The world-famous email column

Issue #45 – “A Year in the Life” – December 2003

-I rang in 2003 violently dry-heaving in a bathroom in the bowels of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas during the wee morning hours of January 1st. In a way, the experience would become a metaphor for the next twelve months – an incredible amount of effort was exerted but without much to show for it in the end. 2003 was supposed to be a year of maturation for me, a time when I would evolve from frat boy to manhood. It didn’t quite play out that way. As I look back, I can’t help but marvel at the money I made then spent, alcohol I consumed then saw again the next morning, and women I hooked up with then never saw again. In other words, twelve months have passed and I’m right back where I started. And I’m ready to do it all over again. Welcome to a year in the life…

-What really pissed me off this year is people who kept telling me that I had to “pay my dues.” That’s old peoples’ response to everything isn’t it? “Well, you have to pay your dues.” “You have to pay your dues first.” “Don’t worry, you’re just paying your dues.” You know what? I’m sick of paying dues. My whole life I’ve been paying dues. When the fuck do I get paid?

-I just went into my bank account online and calculated how much money I spent this year. It’s disgusting. The problem with being twentysomething in New York City is that you can spend tons of money but gain nothing tangible. Everything goes to rent, sushi, light beer, and cell phone bills. I spent tens of thousands of dollars this year and the only proof I have that the money ever existed are a few bank statements and a new pair of Sauconys.

-People born this time of year were the kids who were always younger or older than everyone in their class. I always thought it was strange that a decision your parents made when you were five would many years later determine who could binge-drink legally before or after everyone else. And I love when people who were the oldest in their class and people who were youngest in their class meet, and find out they graduated at the same time. The older person always has to annoyingly calculate the age difference: “Oh my God, I’m like eleven months older than you!” And clearly no more mature.

-For some reason, this year I suffered more RDIs than at any time in my life. An RDI is of course a Random Drunken Injury that you wake up with the next day but have no idea how you got it. I’ve gotten a bruised tailbone, cut-up elbows, a sore wrist. And I don’t know if I got them getting laid or laid out!

-It’s only the first week of December and I already hate New Year’s Eve. I hate it! Because no matter where I go on New Year’s Eve, I will pay too much, wait on line way too long, and buy drinks that are way too weak, while at the party that I decided not to go to, drunken orgies of supermodels will no doubt break out without warning on the dance floor and everyone will get ass while the Belvedere flows like water.

-But despite my apprehension about New Year’s Eve, there is no one I feel sorrier for than the saps I see at Blockbuster that afternoon renting Hugh Grant movies to watch with their girlfriends at home before Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve. I may wait on line all night and wake up on January 1st with a bruised tailbone, but at least I gave it my all!

-I hate January tan people. Even in high school I hated January tan people. These were the kids whose parents took them to Puerto Rico every winter break while you spent your vacation shoveling yellowed snow for minimum wage. You returned to school even paler than you left it while they were bronzed to perfection. I hate January tan people even more now. It’s just that I can’t stand what they represent – having fun when I’m not.

-In my opinion, one person brought the country together this year like no one else. And it wasn’t the President or the Pope. It was Paris Hilton. As soon as that video hit the Internet I was getting emails from people I haven’t spoken to since elementary school asking for or sending copies of the tape. It was really a beautiful thing. Of course, if Paris has taught us anything, it’s that lighting is crucial. Why shoot porn in night-vision? I could barely tell if she was sucking dick or saving Jessica Lynch.

-The worst advertising campaign of the year has to go to Nextel. You know, they have those myriad commercials where there are a bunch of people in the same room using the walkie-talkie function on their cell phone to talk to each other. Uh, what? Why are they even using cell phones if they are in the same room? Oh, wait, it’s counter-intuitive…is that the point? I don’t know, but someone’s ass needs to get fired over there.

-Quote of the Month. This year, a lot of my friends left their first jobs out of college for new jobs. I think my friends were happiest when they were in that lame-duck period of already having accepted a new job but half-ass finishing out the contract on their old one. I talked to my buddy Harlan at his new job the other day and I asked him how it felt to leave his old investment bank. He was like, “Dude, my last month of work there I partied for like six weeks straight.” Really? Well I certainly hope you listed strong math skills on your resume.

-Many people my age are taking standardized tests in preparation for applying to grad schools next year. This phenomenon disturbs me for two reasons. One, I am then forced to ask the question, “How was your test?” which is the second most annoying question behind “How was your trip?” in that the person doesn’t really want to repeat the same answer over and over again and you don’t really care anyway. And two, I have again begun hearing people say they are “bad test-takers.” Mind you these are not people who are dyslexic or have other learning disabilities, it’s just that when it comes to test-taking, they are “bad.” This has got to be the sorriest excuse in the world. How are you going to be a lawyer or an MBA if you can’t pencil in bubbles within an allotted time period?

-My sister Caryn, a senior at Dartmouth, is applying to grad school right now (and she’s an excellent test-taker, thank you very much). She was telling me this “woman” in the career services office was helping her with her applications. I said, “Oh, that’s cool, how old is this woman?” And she said, “About two or three years older than me.” I said, “So that makes her my age. And you called her a woman. Does that make me a man?” “No,” my sister replied, “You’re still an idiot.” It’s good to know some things never change.

-I was thinking of maybe getting a new watch for the holidays. There are a couple that I really like but they all have one very disturbing thing in common – no numbers or dashes. How do people tell time like that? It’s like we’ve progressed thousands of years since the sundial and all we’ve really succeeded in doing was making it small enough to fit on a wrist.

-In a few weeks, when you start accidentally writing 2003 instead of 2004 on all of your paperwork, please keep it to yourself. Life is difficult enough without having to hear trivial complaints about your inability to get the year right.

-Something occurred this year that, more than ever, made me realize I’m getting older faster than I would like. All of a sudden, I absolutely hate getting mail. Remember back in the day how you never got mail and when you did it was usually something cool? Everything in the mail now is just bills and coupon books for goods and services I would never purchase. Nothing cool comes anymore except the occasional misaddressed Victoria’s Secret catalog.

-Another thing I noticed myself doing this year is screening my calls. When I first graduated, I couldn’t wait to get a ring on my cell phone. Now I wield the “ignore” button like it’s nobody’s business. Private number? You’ve got no shot. Even when I recognize the number, I send my friends straight to voicemail, just to show them who’s boss. I was home at my parent’s house over Thanksgiving and they don’t have Caller ID. I got a beep on the other line and I almost broke out into a cold sweat.

-I see it looming. It’s coming, I just know it. In 2004, the bubble will burst. People I know are going to start getting engaged. So far I only have one good friend and several acquaintances who have made the plunge, but I have a feeling that’s about to change. I never thought it would come to this. People are settling down, making serious commitments, moving in together, starting a family. Meanwhile, I’ve been single longer than at any time in my life. My apartment is such a bachelor pad that I have a sofa bed but not enough room to unfold the actual bed. I don’t own shoes or a belt that would be appropriate attire for an engagement party. I haven’t worn a tux since my senior year fraternity formal. Hell, my “terrible twos” just ended last week!

-Looking back, I think that this entire year I felt uneasy. I constantly had that feeling of dread that someone who didn’t deserve it was going to strike it big. You know that feeling? It’s the same feeling you get when you’re watching your dumbest, laziest, most dim-witted friend play the lottery. You’re sort of rooting for him but deep down you’re thinking, if this idiot wins a million bucks a week for life, I’m just going to shoot myself. Thankfully, that didn’t happen this year. In 2004, when one of my friends gets a new job or gets engaged, I’ll be really happy for them. Hopefully, as long as no January tan people or bad test-takers scratch off a mega-millions jackpot winner, I won’t feel as uneasy either. After all, 2004 to me means endless possibilities of women, money, booze, fame, and fortune. I’ve paid my dues and it’s gonna be a great year.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-Have you ever waited on line or worked really hard to get in somewhere exclusive and then at the door the pass they give you is just a generic raffle ticket? You immediately think to yourself that you could have just gone to the supermarket and bought one of those tickets yourself even though it’s pretty impractical to be carrying around a spool of every different color ticket in anticipation of such a situation.

-I have never once been satisfied with the amount of topping I get with ice cream. If you have them put the topping on, you eat through it right away. If you get the topping on the side, you have to meticulously ration the sprinkles in order to save enough for the last few bites. It really takes the fun away.

-I think that the makers of chapstick are ripping us all off. You know when you get to the bottom of the stick but there’s still more left only you can’t get to it unless you squeeze your lip into the tiny cylinder thereby chapping your lips even more? Hey, I paid for a full stick and I shouldn’t have to french kiss the fucking thing just to get it.

-Honestly, girls are so predicable sometimes. My friend Kim went away to Australia. As soon as she got there, she started sending pages and pages of daily emails about her trip. I’m talking serious detail here. Then in one email she mentioned she met an Australian guy. Then in another email she mentioned they were dating. Then in another email she said they were getting serious. Then the emails started coming less and less frequently. And now I haven’t heard from her in six weeks. That’s OK, I don’t have shoes to wear to the engagement party anyway.

-Mapquest never works quite the way you want it to, does it? It’s like you hit zoom in once and you’re looking at the bathroom of the bar and you hit zoom out and it shows you the continental United States. All I’m looking for is cross streets here.

-Have you ever seen “guilt-free” fries on the menu of a health-food restaurant? They’re always so bad you wish you could give them the death penalty.

-While watching my new favorite show “The OC” the other day, my friend Triplet #1 made the keen observation that the family was eating Chinese food out of the carton with chopsticks. That’s such a TV thing isn’t it? Have you ever actually eaten Chinese food like that? Oh, and is Seth Cohen’s mom getting hotter in each episode or what?

-Whenever I am introduced to someone and they say, “Hi Karo, nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.” I usually respond with a chuckle and say, “Well don’t believe a word of it!” How lame is that? I’m a fucking comedian and that’s the best I can come up with. It’s sad.

-God damn that Hilary Duff’s got some catchy songs.

-Do the people who are interviewed for segments on “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart” realize the show is on Comedy Central and that they’re making complete asses of themselves?

-I love when people hold their cell phone way up in the air like that extra ten inches is actually going to get them better reception. And even if you do get better reception, how are you supposed hear anything if your phone is way up in the air?

-I can’t comprehend how guys get haircuts and then go about their day without showering first. No amount of talcum power or sweeping your forehead with that poofy brush thing is going to get everything off of you. You always see the tiny leftover hairs at the base of their scalp. I get itchy just thinking about it.

-How come the jacket of every fiction book I read features a picture of the author wearing a turtle neck and a tweed jacket, and a biography that says he lives with his wife, two kids, and a dog in New Hampshire?

-What do you think Ralph Macchio is doing at this very instant?

-I love the moment when you go out to dinner with a few people and you know, you have a few cocktails, some dessert, whatever. You get the check and you’re like, oh my God, I can’t believe how much this is and instantaneously in your head you divide it up and realize how much you have to pay and how you really can’t afford it and chastise yourself for spending so much money until finally someone next to you looks at the bill and says, “You realize gratuity is already included, right?” and you stop hyperventilating and realize it’s not more than you expected after all.

-I also love when everyone at the table gets their food first except for one guy and he’s always like, “Eat, eat.” And everyone puts up a mild protest: “No, no, we’ll wait.” And then the guy insists, “Seriously, eat, it’ll get cold.” So everyone digs in but you know the guy without food is thinking, “I’m so fucking hungry right now and I hate everybody at this table.”

-I’ve found that when I’m on the treadmill I tend to slyly glance at the person next to me to see how fast they’re running. Like we’re in some sort of crazy race that goes nowhere.

-There are few things more awkward than trying to drink water while running on the treadmill. You can barely keep your arm steady enough to direct the water into your mouth, you’re panting too hard to really swallow anything substantial, and it ends up all over your chin and thighs. You might as well dump a cup of water on your head. That’s what people do when they’re racing anyway, right?

-It still boggles my mind that there are people out there without cell phones. How do they live? How do they make plans or meet anyone anywhere? Remember the last time you met someone on a corner somewhere in the city? How many phone calls did it take? Like a dozen right? “What corner are you on?” “East side or west side of the street?” “Are you taking a cab?” “Are you close?” “I can’t find you.” “Which store?” “OK, I see you, I’m crossing the street.” “No, the other street.” “I’m directly behind you.” Hmm, maybe that’s why Nextel makes those walkie-talkie phones.

-Has anyone actually ever left a “callback number” on someone’s voicemail? Why even have that option?

-Have you ever gotten a cell phone call, but declined the call and put your phone back in your pocket, and then a minute later your phone starts vibrating again and you think to yourself, wow, I’m really blowing up today until your realize it’s just the voicemail alert from the previous call and you’re not that popular after all?

-Another pet peeve of mine is people who hesitate on their own voicemail message. It’s like, “Hi, uh, this is Jared, I’m not here right now so leave a message and I’ll, uh, get back to you.” What’s with the “uh”? Are you unsure of your name or what you’re supposed to do when someone leaves you a message? Do you not know how to erase your message and re-record one that doesn’t make you sound like such a jackass?

-I feel like corrections in newspapers are never sufficient enough. If the paper makes a mistake, no matter how egregious it is, they always print the tiny correction the next day like sixty pages deep. It’s bad enough you accidentally reported this guy was dead, the least you could do is put the correction before the obituaries!

-People use the phrases “a la carte” and “caddy corner” in conversation with me all the time and I have absolutely no idea what they mean. I just smile and nod.

-Who are these people that drink coffee while working out at the gym? I certainly hope they don’t try to drink while running on the treadmill.

-Out of all the people you know with Palm Pilots, I’m willing to bet about two-thirds of them haven’t even looked at the thing in at least eight months.

-Who actually responds to spam emails? Someone out there must be responding or they wouldn’t be sending them in the first place. I’ll admit, sometimes I’ll actually get fooled by spam and open an email that says, “How are you?” thinking that it’s legitimate. But when I see that it’s an offer to increase my penis size with no exercise or dieting and free access for a month to a program designed by porn star scientists, I quickly realize I’ve been had and delete the email. But some people must actually think these things are legit. And these are the same people that win millions in the lottery.

-And, finally, this year I started to notice that while I’m getting suave enough to hook up with much older women, I’m actually losing my game with younger girls. A few months ago, I did a stand-up show at a college and my set went really well. Afterward, I was talking to some of the students in the audience. This really cute girl came up to me, asked me to sign her copy of my book, and then said with a coy smile, “You know, I have a single in the dorms.” I said to her, “Oh yeah? That’s so neat, so did I!” It was only after she walked away with a grimace that I realized what she was implying. Fuck me.